


Merry Christmas, Harold

by cheyennesunrise, TimelessDreamer2



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, fluffly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyennesunrise/pseuds/cheyennesunrise, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessDreamer2/pseuds/TimelessDreamer2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a lovely bit of fanart by Kadeart.</p><p>Harold plans a special gift for John, and John gives a gift of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Harold

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this beautiful art. 
> 
> http://kadeart.tumblr.com/post/69594367494/merry-christmas-harold

Harold Finch did not celebrate Christmas. He hadn’t for decades now, since high school, in fact. He always avoided any type of holiday party, refused all invitations, and rarely gave gifts. This year though, he actually wanted to give one, had planned and prepared it carefully for months. Of course, he had absolutely no intention of being there to see the reception the gift received, not this gift. This year, Harold was going to give John something special, something that encompassed everything that he was, surpassing anything that he had ever shared with Nathan. This year, Harold was going to give John all the answers he had been looking for in one fat folder.

The folder was a plain brown thing, simple and innocent looking. Still, every time Harold added a paper, or adjusted the order, he felt a strange queasiness, a result of the warring emotions of apprehension and hope that were churning inside him. _'Would John still respect him? Would he understand the choices Harold had made and why?'_ There had been multiple times over the last few months that he almost abandoned the project completely.

Even if he was, _again_ , having second thoughts, it was too late to back out now. It was nearly four in the morning, Christmas morning, and John would be there promptly at six thirty. Not to mention, Bear had been faithfully laying on his bed, waiting for Harold to take him home.

Harold glanced at the calendar again. He was well aware of the date and the baggage that it carried, but it was Christmas, and he wanted to make it special for John. Even though they had technically spent the last three holiday seasons together, this would be their first proper celebration, without the injury or incarceration or heartache of the previous years.

 _‘God willing,’_ he thought wistfully.

Settling the fat folder carefully down on the table. Harold considered for a minute, then wrote John’s name on it, in his most careful writing, adding a _‘Merry Christmas’_ to it before nodding once. “Alright, Bear… we can go now. _Hier._ ”

Harold took one last look at the Library and gave Bear’s leash a gentle tug. The dog trotted behind him, and they made their way to the back staircase. As soon as Harold’s foot hit the first stair, he heard a faint noise, like a door clicking shut in the distance, and he froze.

A low growl rumbled in Bear’s throat.

Harold’s grip on the leash tightened, and he swallowed nervously.

“Bear, _luid!_ ” he whispered, prompting the Malinois to bark loudly at the intruder.

The footsteps grew closer, and Harold took one step backward. Bear was straining on his leash and barking madly, and the fur on his back stood up.

_“Foei! Af liggen!”_

Harold’s eyes widened at the voice, but his expression quickly softened in recognition as Bear stopped barking and immediately sat down at his feet.

“John, you’re-,” Harold stammered, clearly flustered by the unexpected visitor.

First, came the scent of doughnuts, light and sweet. Then, John rounded the corner. His hair was slightly damp from the falling snow, small clumps still clinging to the shoulders of his wool coat. Despite the cold, John still didn’t bother with a scarf. He had a faint smile on his face, mostly directed at Bear, but soon moving on to Harold. “I’m what, Harold?” His voice was teasing.

Harold paused, taking a moment to look over John. He noted the laugh lines around John’s eyes, and the beads of melted snow that still clung to his eyelashes. He finally rested his gaze on the festive red and green box in John’s hands, and something fluttered in his heart.

“You’re early, John,” he said simply, and a small smile crossed his lips.

“I suppose…” The small smile lingered a moment longer, as John dropped a hand onto Bear’s head, giving the dog a thorough petting.

A look of alarm suddenly crossed Harold’s face. _He had forgotten about the folder!_

“John, please- please wait here for a moment. I have to take care of something before we go inside. I hope that you understand,” he said breathlessly, handing Bear’s leash to John with an apologetic grin.

He turned and walked up the stairs with some effort. “I’ll be right back!” he called over his shoulder.

John studied Harold’s retreating form for a minute, before looking down at Bear. It only took a minute before John silently scaled the stairs, curious at what had made Harold run off so quickly. Prudently, John dropped Bear’s leash, letting the dog bound up the stairs first.

Harold was already by the table. He brushed a nervous hand over the folder, tracing his Christmas message to John, and he wondered if it was all a mistake.

The sound of Bear’s paws hitting the floor startled Harold, and he inhaled sharply, nearly stumbling backward in shock.

“Oh, Bear, it’s only you,” he breathed. Harold looked down at the folder once more and sighed.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Bear,” he admitted softly, and the Malinois whined in response. Harold patted him on the head and Bear licked his hand, as if to comfort him.

“Do what?” John slipped into the room, one hand still balancing the box of doughnuts he had brought. As he set the box down, and instantly earned the full attention of Bear, John noticed how _off_ Harold seemed. “Is everything alright?” There was a slight hint of threat in his tone, the one that always showed up whenever he suspected something was wrong.

Harold’s eyes dropped and he studied the folder in his hands.

“I was going to leave this for you, John,” he began quietly. “I wanted you to find it here this afternoon.”

“Without me,” he added, and his voice almost broke on the last syllable. Harold sighed and looked up at John. His expression was pained, but there was a desperation in his eyes, an earnestness, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Harold’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t make a sound.

A small frown pulled on the edges of John’s mouth, as he looked at the folder. “I have to say… that doesn’t make much sense Harold. Usually, you just give me information directly.” His head tilted slightly, as he studied his partner. “Why didn’t you want to be here?”

Harold’s throat was suddenly too dry, and the Library was too restrictive.

“John, I-” he choked. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. I was going to give this to you,” he said, gesturing at the folder in his arms.

Harold swallowed, and he leaned a hand against the wall to steady himself.

“John, I-I’m not sure,” he faltered. The folder hung loosely in his hands, and he looked over at John, silently apologizing and urging him to _'please understand'_.

John didn’t like it when Harold was worried. Whatever was in that folder had to be personal, Harold rarely got that flustered unless it was. John opened his mouth to speak and then paused, turned slightly, and just barely rescued the box from Bear’s thieving attempt.

Turning back to Harold, John suddenly had an idea. It was partially impulsive and partially something he had been planning for a while. He took two steps, so he was standing right in front of Harold. Planting one hand on the wall, and absently making sure that the box didn’t tip, John kissed Harold softly, lingering when his partner didn’t move.

Harold looked up in surprise, all but forgetting about the contents of the folder. He closed his eyes and kissed John back, reveling in his touch. Harold was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice when folder slipped from his grasp or when the contents fluttered across the floor, covering their feet like paper snowflakes.

Harold shook his head and sighed against John’s mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, lifting a hand to trace John’s jawline, scratching a finger across the stubble.

“Merry Christmas, Harold.” John whispered, equally quietly. He pressed another kiss lightly at the edge of Harold’s mouth and straightened. “You can tell me, Harold… Whatever you need to.”

Harold looked down at the avalanche of papers at his feet. “Well, I suppose that telling you would be easier than having you pick up and rearrange all of that,” he smirked.

Harold looked John square in the eye. “John, these papers- they’re all part of a story,” he began slowly, hesitantly. He took a careful breath, and encouraged by the soft look on John’s face, started.

“ _My_ story. You see, John… My name is….”


End file.
